


procellous

by loupettes



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-28
Updated: 2020-11-28
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:28:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27758443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loupettes/pseuds/loupettes
Summary: “Did you ever fall in love again?”Tentoo x Rose. Angst. A stormy night, Rose finally gets to ask the questions she's been wanting to since they were seperated.
Relationships: Metacrisis Tenth Doctor/Rose Tyler
Comments: 18
Kudos: 61





	procellous

**Author's Note:**

> Dialogue prompt: "Close the door."

She was yanked into a consciousness drenched in panic. A deep, abominable panic, the kind that fills you with the mass of a terror so suffocating that you feel it twisting deep within you, clawing through your ribs and up to your skin.

He wasn’t there.

 _It wasn’t real._ She’d lost him, he was lost to her. The thought took with it her core and she was left hollow. She began to grasp helplessly for air, gripping the sheets around her in an attempt to subdue the terror. She focused on her feet, feeling the ground beneath them, then moved up to her hands, feeling how soft the sheets were, how she couldn’t count a single line of thread due to their being so tightly woven. She focused on all of her senses, one by one: she smelled the hint of fir and musk in the night’s air; the taste in her mouth, the chasm and the uncomfortable dryness - water, a glass of water. She now had a purpose, a concrete thought, a focus. _Get a glass of water._

She began to differentiate between reality and her nightmares. Her breathing began to steady and her thoughts began to surface. She noted the sheet under her right hand was warm, warmer than her left under the pillow besides her; he’d been here. He must _still_ be here, somewhere, in this cabin. It wasn’t a dream, it wasn’t like before. She _had_ found him.

Another sob escaped her, but this one seeped in _longing._ She needed him, needed to feel his body against hers, to hear him breathing and feel his heart beating. She could no longer connect with her senses because her senses were now without him. 

“Doctor?”

Silence. So she slipped on her slippers, threw a cardigan over her shoulders and padded with purpose through the unfamiliar corridors. 

They were in Norway, not 5 days following their departure with his counterpart. Her original Doctor and her original TARDIS. Pete had a friend with a cabin a few hours from Bad Wold Bay and Rose had suggested they… stay, for a while. Just a week or two, spending some time alone in a secluded space in the woods. A chance to get to know each other again, before heading back to London.

_“Rose, what are you on about? I know you like I know the back of my hand.”_

_“The hand you just grew out of a few hours ago?”_

_“Fair point.”_

She’d been a little nervous that day. She didn’t want to let go of his hand for fear he’d slip away, leaving her again. God, her stomach turned at the memory of him _fading_ , saying her name and just disappearing. Even now, even with her _own,_ with a Doctor who had nothing to do with himself now except love her, the image of him being claimed by the other universe was an image that she imagined would torment her regardless. So she’d held on tight to his hand that day in the hopes that the feel of him there with her would overpower the memory of him fading away from her. And it wasn’t the way he smiled back at her, or the fact that he’d whispered the words to her that convinced her, _finally_ , that he really did love her: it was the way he'd grasped her hand in return. 

She could feel the rumblings of the thunder outside under her own feet, reverberating up inside her. This storm was frightening. It was a storm so ferocious that for a moment she wondered if it was perhaps the man living up to his name, clouded in a grief and loss and rage so severe that it transcended through dimensions.

“Rose? That you?”

Had she always been so addicted to the sound of his voice? Hearing it set off an automatic response in her system to _follow_ , find out wherever it came from so she could finally feel him with her. She groaned at how she’d become _that_ person, but then again she _loved it._ She loved how in love she was, how _hard_ she’d work to find her love and how she now had only to enjoy it. 

She found him in the living space. It really was a gorgeous cabin, and Norway really was a beautiful country, that that it no longer conjured memories of despair. The cabin was a beautiful mix of modern and classic; oak structures preserved with parts of architecture renovated to create more space, the vast floor-to-ceiling windows at the west-facing side of the house meant that they overlooked the river, encircled in fir trees with a view of the mountains. Tonight, though, she was unable to see any of it; save the dim backlight of the corridor behind her, there was next to _no_ light. She saw his darkened frame and he was sitting on the floor by the window. Why, she asked herself, when there were sofas overlooking the same view?   
  
Bloody loon.

She smiled, shaking her head at him. “Wondered where you’d got off to. Gave me a good fright.”

She saw the shadow of his arm raise and beckon her towards him. “C’mere, come look at this!”

 _I can see it from here_ , she chuckled. But she needed him of course, so she slipped through the door. She noticed the fire still emitting tiny flecks of red and gold and she searched for a nearby log to reignite it.

“Close the door! You’re letting the light in. S’gotta be dark.”

“Bloody hell, how old are you?” Her snarky remark instantly trivialised when the room flashed a brilliant white, illuminating the furnishings and _there_ were the mountains! She’d caught a moments glimpse of the wind she’d only thus far been able to hear howling now assigned the image of the trees near tearing in its passing.

She grabbed a pillow from the sofa and chucked it down next to him, flopping onto it with crossed legs. Feeling very much like her 14-year-old self when she and Lauren used to have sleepovers in her old flat, talking about boys and kissing the double-paged poster of Justin Timberlake in the _Smash Hits_ magazine that week. He pulled at the coffee table behind them, putting a few pillows between them to lean back on. He held out his hand, and she slapped hers down on top and they giggled. 

She marvelled at him. She’d always preferred this version of him, the one with messy hair and a cotton t-shirt that he reserved only for her. They’d been buying little bits and pieces for him: much-needed things like a toothbrush and a change of clothes; and then little things a few days later that they’d overlooked at first or weren’t prepared for: thicker socks now that he was more sensitive to the cold, some earbuds to help him sleep better at night. And then some things were on the list for round three, including a razor, but Rose might have rubbed that one out. She sort of fancied him with a bit more stubble. Well, she _definitely_ did. 

He squeezed her hand and she wondered how long he’d been staring at her, before she was reminded that he was human now and his eyesight was about as good as hers and he probably couldn’t see a thing anyway. “Everything alright?”

“Oh.” She breathed a timid laugh. “Yeah, no. S’just couldn’t find you for a moment. Had a bit of a panic.”

He let go of her hand to brush his fingers across her cheek. She leaned into his touch and she craved more, allowing herself to fall into him completely. He shifted down a bit, readjusting the pillows behind him so she could settle in comfily with her head on his shoulder, his hand tracing up and down her arm. 

“Sorry. Didn’t want to wake you.”

“Na. S’okay,” she dismissed. “Not the first time you’ve up and left in the middle of the night.” 

“Makes me sound like a right womaniser.”

She scoffed. “You wish.” She pulled the blanket further up her a bit more, exposing his feet and he wiggled them. She groaned, reaching to cover them. She settled back into him and drew her cardigan tighter around her, pleased to discover he was only searching for an excuse to wrap himself tightly around her. “Dunno, I guess I just keep waking up thinking it was all a dream.”

“Yeah,” he mused. He was thinking something, definitely, but she couldn’t quite figure it out. Still a bit guarded in his emotions, then. 

“Couldn’t sleep?” 

“Na. Think this is going to take some getting used to.”

She tutted. “After we bought the expensive brand of earplugs and everything.”

“I know, real waste of 20 kroner.”

“I’d have thought by now you’d be knackered," she mulled. "Human physiology and all that, need a bit more rest than you’re used to.”

“Mmm, so did I,” he said, taking his hand off her arm to scratch at his jaw; her hair was tickling it, she imagined. “Suppose not, though. One more to add to the list of Time Lord Qualities The Hybridised Doctor Obtained.”

“Running a bit thin on the list of Human Qualities The Hybridised Doctor Obtained. Other than a tendency to swear more, poor internal temperature regulation and getting out of breath easier.”

“That’ll be the one heart.”

“The rest of us manage.”

“Oi!” he pouted. “I’ve had two for the last 900 years, let me have this one.”

She sighed wistfully. “Probably cos you’re old now. Nearly 40.”

“Give over! Don’t look a day over 30.”

“Get my own human copy of the Doctor and it's a bit decrepit, on it’s way out.”

He scoffed. “Pfft. You’re lucky I gave you one of me at all. Could’ve seen where these looks took me. I could be swanning off with anyone by now. Irresistible, I am.”

It was a joke that didn’t sit quite right with her. She’d always been insecure, a bit prone to jealousy - she had Jimmy Stone to thank for that one. But towards the end of their time together, before they were separated, she’d felt secure in his love for her. No need for jealousy because she saw the way he looked at her compared to the way he looked at other women. Well, and men, she supposed. And even now, this Doctor sitting besides her felt the same and she felt that entirely. But she knew nothing of the Doctor in-between, the one who’d lost her and believed would never see her again. 

Her stomach turned and she recognised it: that dark, twisted belief that she was unimportant, forgettable. The thought that had toyed with her for years: that he’d found somebody else after her.

“I’ve been wanting to ask you about that, actually,” she began, surprised herself that she’d found the courage to ask him. Well, preemptively. Perhaps it was because they’d crossed a few boundaries these past few days and they were both becoming a bit more confident in each other. This trip wasn’t just spending time in each other’s company; they were existing around each other, figuring out their new dynamic. It turns out, going from a wistful longing, to a heartbreak unconsolable, to years of determined willpower to a professed undying love for the other is quite a dynamic shift, and that’s _without_ the added element of the half-human-half-time-lord hybrid. Sometimes she even felt like she needed to ask for his permission to stick her tongue down his throat and snog him senseless, but he'd _certainly_ never seemed to show any objection. “Did you ever… you know.”

“What?”

He didn’t half make it bloody hard sometimes. She sniffed - an extra pocket of air for her lungs to give her confidence. “Well, I dunno. Find anyone else. After me, I mean.” She scorned herself. _Be direct. Just ask him._ “Did you ever fall in love again?” 

“You havin’ me on?”

She closed her eyes and bit her bottom lip. “Doctor. _Please_. Just. Please don’t.”

Her voice broke on the last word. It was enough for him to remind _himself_ what they were doing and why they were doing it. “No, Rose. Of course, I didn’t.”

Her heart was released of its vicious hold. He remained quiet, patient and allowing her the chance to explore her curiosity, she suspected. She returned the favour, releasing his heart of its hold too.

“See anyone casually?” she teased.

He suppressed a chuckle. Unsuccessfully. “Define “ _casually_ ”?”

“Well, I dunno.” Hers was a more successful hide. She was less nervous, now that her greatest fears had been extinguished. “Bit of a fling with someone. Nothing too serious, just a bit of fun.”

“A fling,” he considered, his fingers beginning to lull. “Sort of like, dating the same person a few times, you mean?”

“Yeah,” she grinned, daring herself to go further. “Sexcapades.”

“Singular?”

She yanked herself away from him, looking back at him in aghast. “Oh my _god,_ you had one night stands, didn’t you! Pick up girls from clubs and bring them back for angry rebound sex!”

He shrugged. “That depends.”

She didn’t think it possible, but her mouth dropped open even more. “On _what?”_

Despite the dark, she was able to see his nervous hesitation. Melancholic, perhaps. “On whether _you_ did.”

She guessed he’d wanted for it to sound less like a question. Their relationship had altered so much that lacing their usual jokes with the domesticity of _relationships_ threw her quite often off-balance. She’d limited her responses to recount only the times when they were apart that she could bear thinking about, but hadn't spoken about any. She hadn’t considered that perhaps he _had_ wondered about her, maybe even her love life. It seemed a bit… unlike him. She shook her head. “No, course not. I always knew I’d find my way back. Boys, men, relationships, they just didn’t interest me.”

He was quiet. “Not even Mickey?”

Something about him asking her surprised her. She’d always thought perhaps he’d been jealous, and he'd never ever spoken to her about Mickey. Almost like he refused to believe their relationship was any more than acquaintances. So having him acknowledge it now, for him to show his own insecurities made her realise they were in fact quite the same. He too was asking for the same reasons: he’d dreaded it. She imagined him all that time, thinking about her. Who she was seeing, and it made sense that he’d automatically think she’d start something back up with Mickey. She remembered his face on the beach when she’d joked she was pregnant and she couldn’t quite understand his reaction until now. He’d worried about her finding someone else, and he only hoped it was anyone but Mickey. Knowing that they’d rekindled their love; a love that he’d always envied. Knowing that she'd turned to him in the end, had sex with him, was starting a family with him. Perhaps he could have handled the thought of her moving on better if it was with someone he couldn't imagine her doing it with. 

“Of _course_ not.” She leaned forwards, placing a chaste kiss on his lips, enabling her to catch his sigh of relief. An honest sigh, a rare glimpse at his feelings. She wasn’t used to it by any standards, so her surprise only grew when he continued.

“I thought about it, every day. Tried not to, of course - and you know how good I am at that. But I couldn’t stop thinking about you finding another man. Falling in love with somebody else, looking at them in the same way you used to look at _me_.” His voice caught and he swallowed, closing his eyes to focus more on the words he wanted to say. She supposed it was another thing to add to his list of human qualities: he was a lot more emotional. “Saying those words to somebody else after you’d said them to me.”

God, this was _heartbreaking._ Somehow, the sound of the rain thumping on the windows made it that much more hopeless. “Like I’d have ever moved on. You must have known I was going to find you.”

She saw his eyes snap back open. “Rose, never in a million lifetimes did I think I’d see you again. I just had to live with knowing I’d never _know_ about you. About how your life turned out, how many kids you’d have and how their voices would have sounded when they called for their mum, what you’d have done with your career and where it would have taken you. How you would have met him, the love of your life. All I could do was hope those thoughts didn’t catch me off guard one day.”

She squeezed his hand. “I waited for you at first-"

As soon as she’d said the words, heard herself speak them out of the context of her thoughts, she regretted it. His eyes closed and she could have sworn she’d _heard_ his heartbreak. “No! I didn’t-"

“ _Please_ don’t tell me that.”

She stuttered, moving back in to kiss him but she felt him more resistant to her touch. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that.” She bit down. Truthfully, she _had_ meant it like that, or at least, at the beginning. When he’d first left, she’d waited. A few hours on that beach, a few days in Norway. A few months in London. And then one day, or perhaps it might have been an accumulation of several, she realised he wasn’t coming back. Not even for a couple of seconds to finish his sentence. She told herself it was because he was a time lord responsible for the fate of the universe that he never came to get her, and just because he hadn’t and therefore destroyed the fates of _multiple dimensions_ in the process didn’t mean that she wasn’t worth it to him. But she _did_ believe it. She spent some time in utter agony at having been forgotten about, another to add to the pile of companions he didn’t go back for. But she hadn’t meant it now, she’d grown past that. Learned to differentiate between her darker possession who would have her believe she was unimportant to what she knew to be true. “I just meant that, at first I’d waited, but then I took matters into my own hands and started finding my way back. There was never a doubt in my mind that we would see each other again, one way or another. I guess I just didn't realise there would be for you.”

He was quiet, and she waited anxiously. She had to keep reminding herself, time and time again, that this Doctor wasn’t so easily frightened. Well, he was, but he was trying not to be. He didn’t have reason to keep her at arm’s length anymore. He wasn’t running, which was a start. So she tiptoed around some of the questions she’d wanted to ask for years. “Did you… well. I dunno, did you ever think about it? About looking for a way to…”

He sighed, and she quickly held back from saying any more. “Rose, do you want to know the answer to these questions? Is knowing whether I searched hopelessly for a way going to help? Or will it make you feel better if I tell you I pushed it all aside and tried my best to move on and I did?”

“Suppose not, no,” she gritted, feeling irritated. Or perhaps it was just the embarrassment. “But these questions played on my mind every day, and I never thought I’d get the answers to them.”

“Well, why does it matter now?” He was starting to get frustrated too. 

She hesitated; she knew this was his way around telling her that he hadn’t looked for her. Those thoughts began creeping up on her again, and she knew they were just that, just _thoughts,_ but she still couldn’t help thinking them. Thoughts telling her that he’d in fact never loved her, and that it was all in her head. That he was far too important and she was far too insignificant, that she was kidding herself to think he was interested in her or that she was different in any way. He could have been asking _anyone_ to stay with him. He could have even asked the one after her to stay, could have taken _her_ to all the same places, could have been sleeping in _her_ room at night. Could have advanced their relationship, because she turned out to be more special to him. And, even now, even after he’d said the words to Rose, she couldn't help but think that this was never his plan and he needed to dispose of an extra clone so this one’s now stuck here, caught in a lie. The Doctor didn’t love her as much as he once did, as much as he now loved another. 

The familiar spiral. She knew it all too well by now and she knew what it sought: validation. She needed somebody else to tell her she was special; even though she knew it was true, sometimes she didn’t always believe it. But then again, she was talking to the Doctor, and he was one of the most frustrating and infuriating people she knew. If she was looking for a reason to reinforce that belief that she wasn’t good enough, at least for him: he was inadvertently the right man for it. 

“You know I did,” he said quietly.

She blinked, plucked unexpectedly from her thoughts. “What?”

“Look. For a way to at least say goodbye.” She saw him a little clearer, watching her closely. It was spine-chilling; she could feel the goosebumps flair on her skin. “That’s how I came across that crack.”

Her brow furrowed and she narrowed her gaze. Not exactly what she’d meant, but it was another one of her questions that was burning to be answered. “Yeah, about that one. You burnt up a sun?”

“Mmm.”

“What does that mean?”

“Means I burnt up a sun.”

She only frowned deeper. “But _how? Why?_ I don’t…” She struggled to find the words. She realised that, by asking this question, in particular one that was likely to have a very boring sciencey answer, she was opening up a much larger conversation, and in theory, it wasn’t the best idea, as she was starting to fight back against her heavy eyelids. But, in practice, she wanted answers. There was another flash of lightning, and the wind picked up around them outside. 

He’d seen it, how tired she was. He repositioned himself a little to lie more comfortably, tugging for her to rest against him once more. She settled in comfortably into his side and she knew this was only going to make staying awake harder. “Well, I could explain the physics behind it, if you want. Firstly, I’d need to detail how stars are born and how they create energy from hydrogen atoms and helium within their core to generate heat for billions and billions of years, so collapsing in on themselves -’ 

“Oh my god, I’m sorry I asked - ”

 _“Or,”_ he chuckled, “I could just tell you that how I did it doesn’t matter in the end. I just needed to see you, one last time. It took me weeks to find one big enough to begin the process, and even then it wasn’t a particularly speedy one.”

“But, you knew it was only going to be a projection?” she asked, confused. He murmured his answer. “You went through _all_ that effort, all that time just to send me a projection? Knowing we wouldn’t be able to touch and be there together, literally only say goodbye?”

“Romantic, isn’t it?”

 _Impossibly so._ But so incredibly unlike him also. She’d wondered for years what he’d meant, what he’d gone through, how he’d even been able to give them a goodbye. But in the end, no matter how much that twisted insecure part of her reminded her of when he flustered at the idea of a shared mortgage, no matter how many times she replayed the moment she found out she was no different to the rest of them, no matter how much she imagined going back for him would bring about the same reaction when she went back for him at Canary Wharf: in the end, he’d burnt up a sun to say goodbye to her. Whatever her twisted dark self could make her believe was true, that was the one thing that was undeniable proof that he was in love with her. She clung to that idea until it got her back to him.

She could feel it coming, the next question. She willed for her not to ask it, but now they were being honest, and they were in this conversation, and she so desperately wanted to know the answer, had so desperately thought and thought and thought about it, that she wasn’t sure she would’ve been able to stop it from coming even if she were awake enough to do so.

“Did you do it deliberately?”

“Burn up a sun?” 

_Nevermind. Make it stop, don’t do this_. “No I mean, did you, y’know..." _stop_! "Did you know you were going to run out of time?”

“When?”

This time, she really _didn’t_ want to press it any further. “Doesn’t matter-"

"Wait, hold on.” Her heart sank to the silence that followed; she was grateful she couldn’t see his face. “You don’t mean-"

“Really, let’s just forget it.”

“Rose," She'd never heard him say her name with so much... incredulity. Distaste. "Are you asking me if I was _stalling?”_

She felt sick. Hearing him say it out loud, she realised how _awful_ it must have sounded, and she could hear the hurt in his voice.

She’d taken it too far. 

“What are you doing?” His tone was low and dark, sending shivers down her spine.

“What?” she asked nervously.

“We're not doing whatever it is you want to start now. You’re entertaining an insecurity that _you know_ isn’t real - _don't_ think I'll be entertaining it for you.”

She jolted away from him in her own aggravation, of his invalidating her feelings and dismissing them. “Of _course_ I’m thinking it! The time lord who ran out of _time?_ You can't expect me to have not picked up on that!”

He scorned, and she’d have retreated if she weren’t feeling so belittled. “What, you think I wiped my brow after the transmission cut out and said ' _phew, that was a close one'_?”

“No of course not-"

_“'Ah, maybe if I talk long enough about shops and Jackie then we can avoid it'?”_

“Come on, you _know_ I don't mean-"

_“'I know! I’ll send a transmission, say goodbye but hopefully the whole “I love you” thing won’t pop up'”_

“Stop twisting my words!”

“But you _did!_ You did say that and you _did think that!"_ he snapped, his voice not quite strong enough to come across as angry and instead just came off as devastated. "That’s the thing! Because you were so unsure, you had to _ask_ me if I looked for you! Because you _didn’t_ think I spent month after month _searching_ through every book, every piece of literature that detailed how we did it, all those years ago, how the time lords just hopped back and forth from parallel worlds and you _don't_ think I talked to just about everyone and _anyone_ who might know _,_ listened in on _every_ conversation on every planet I went to, every galaxy and far off hidden corners of the universe in the hopes of overhearing something, any nugget of information that I didn’t know yet, that would find me a way back to you, you _didn’t_ picture me going back over _every single thing_ we did that day and how I might be able to change just that one thing, that tiny, insignificant detail that would mean I got to keep you and nobody would've been any the wiser, how I could have gone back and held onto you myself and I could cheat, just this once and you _didn’t_ see how close I was to making that gap just that tiny bit bigger when you _asked_ me to come through properly, Rose, and you even thought for a second I wasn't prepared in that moment, the one where you sobbed in front of me and told me you loved me, to rip through _every single universe_ just to get to you and tell you the same but _I ran out of time!"_

Her body was tense; she felt every muscle taut. Watching him unravel was terrifying, a side of him she'd never thought she'd see when speaking to her. But it was utterly _devastating_.

"I'm sorry," she spoke, so quietly that the rain must have drowned the sound. She must have been physically nailed to the ground, or her body must have rapidly increased in mass - otherwise, she would be holding him by now.

"All that time," he whispered sadly, "I thought you knew, you must have known. Because I’d told you. Time and time again, all throughout space, all throughout time itself that I loved you, but you never heard me. I never said it out loud and the only thing that kept me moving was knowing that you must have believed it, and now I know you didn’t.” His voice broke as he tried to overcome the lump in his throat. _That_ was what brought her back, what loosened the bolts and she leapt to him, throwing her arms around him and holding on as tightly as she could, so tight she was assured she couldn't possibly lose him now. And he did the same, holding her to him, moulding his body around hers until they fit so perfectly together she wondered how she'd ever coped, how she'd ever breathed properly without him. She realised she never _had_.

“I am _so sorry,_ Rose.”

“Shhh,” she pleaded, moving her hand to hold his head to her, stroking the top of his neck. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, not even once. I didn’t make you absolutely certain how in love with you I was, how in love with you I still am and I'm so sorry for that. Even him, even the other me who is _losing his mind_ in grief as we speak continues to love you," she whimpered, a sound he caught and one that always ordered him to put right. "There’s so many different bloody versions of me who love you I can’t keep up.”

They laughed together, hers more out of a sob. He responded by kissing her neck, his lips cool to the sensitive spot of her pulse point. She only hummed in pleasure, so he kept going, moving his kisses up her neck, dotting them on every inch of her face he could cover until she could feel his giggle brush her skin. 

“Looking back on it,” she started, before his kisses moved closer to her lips and she lost her concentration. She cleared her throat, bringing herself back, “I don’t think I ever _did_ feel how much you loved me.”

“Never?"

"Never ever."

He growled. "I’m going to have to do something about that.”

“You’ve got a few years now to get to work.”

He grinned a grin she didn’t get to see before, one of tease and hunger and it stirred something deep within her. She’d wanted to jump the man’s bones for the past few days but, just as they always had been, they seemed to be playing an implicit game where neither was prepared to yield, but both were making it as hard as they could for the other to resist. Speaking of, he pulled himself away far too early, and she had to admit it was getting so much more difficult to refrain from pulling him back to her.

She did have a considerable advantage, at least: she’d been human for a long time. She was used to this game in the sense that she was used to concealing her needs and desires, whereas he most certainly was not. She could swing her legs either side of him, settle into his lap and it would take all of about 40 seconds for her victory to be claimed. But she wasn’t about to make it that easy for him. 

She looked out of the window, shivering at the sheer ruthlessness of the storm outside. “You really think this is him?”

He sighed. “Oh, I don't know. Dunno why I said that.”

She cocked her eyebrow. “Honesty, remember?”

His gaze lowered for a moment before he looked up around him. He shook his head helplessly, shrugging. Silence was about as close as she was going to get to honesty, she supposed. Her spine tingled and she reached for his hand. He took it and squeezed, before breathing in deeply and getting to his feet. “C’mon. Time we got some sleep.”

“Finally tired, are we then?”

“Bloody knackered. You’re hard work, you are.” She jumped to her feet and started putting the cushions back, folding the blanket to drape it over the armrest. “Or were you _trying_ to knacker me out cos you knew I couldn’t sleep?”

“Damn,” she tutted in jest, clicking her fingers. “He’s on to me.” 

“There are more fun ways to tire a man out, you know.” He winked.

“Down, boy,” she grinned, taking back his hand. She took one last look out of the window, just about able to make out the shadows of the trees now that the cusp of dawn lay on its horizon and she became transfixed by something, unable to pull herself from her place. 

She felt him tug on her hand gently. "You ok?"

"Let's sleep here tonight," she suggested. Or rather, requested. He tilted his head in search of her thoughts, eyebrows drawn together in confusion. He raised his gaze to scan the darkness outside, one more flash of lightening elucidating them: he understood. He pulled her to him rather than going to her, drawing her into his arms. She wrapped hers around his waist and they both shivered as they realised the storm outside had only grown more frightful with the night. 

**Author's Note:**

> More prompts or requests welcome [@loupettes](https://loupettes.tumblr.com/submit)


End file.
